


The Way of All Flesh

by dana_kujan



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Genderswap, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_kujan/pseuds/dana_kujan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is an a/u that takes place immediately following the X-Files season 1 episode Gender Bender.  This story was originally published in the fanzine Compounded Interest 4.5.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Way of All Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an a/u that takes place immediately following the X-Files season 1 episode Gender Bender. This story was originally published in the fanzine Compounded Interest 4.5.

**Home  
Thursday, 10:58 p.m.**

The phone was ringing.

I put the carton of milk back in the refrigerator and went out to the living room with my cereal.  It had been one of those promotional boxes; small enough to fit inside a mailbox, but big enough to satisfy anyone who's lost his appetite.  I set the bowl on the coffee table and retrieved the phone from the laundry basket by the far end of the sofa. 

"Mulder."

A far away voice on the other end said, "Hi."

"Scully?" I hollered down the phone without thinking. 

The woman on the line cleared her throat.  "It's Marge Scully.  I apologize for calling so late."

I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing just how thoughtless I had been.  I sank down on the sofa.  "That's okay."

"I just wanted you to know that," she paused to clear her throat again, "the whole family appreciates everything you've done-- you've been doing."

"That's okay," I said again, lamely.

"Well, we're very grateful." She took a deep breath before continuing.  "I'm calling to let you know that we've decided to go ahead with the memorial service."

"Are you sure?" I was stunned.  "Don't feel you have to rush into anything, Mrs.  Scully."

"We're not.  Her brothers and I feel we owe it to Dana's friends, to give them the opportunity to say goodbye.  Then, later, if her body-- "

"You don't owe anybody anything," I said quickly. 

She sighed.  "To tell you the truth, I don't think I can take much more.  Someone new calls every day.  Her friends, colleagues, our out-of-state relatives.  They all offer support-- and I know they care-- but it all comes back to discussing my feelings over and over again.  I'm so tired of talking about it, and thinking about it.  I just need some sort of closure."

"I understand," I said, even though I didn't.

We fell silent, and I think we each found comfort in the other's breathing. 

Marge Scully and I had never met.  I had taken an occasional phone message from her at the office and she had allowed me to call Dana away from a few family dinners.  We had exchanged small talk at these times, and Dana had once made a passing remark about her mother's being "curious" about me.  Only recently had our conversations become more concrete, and in less than two days, we would come face to face under the worst possible circumstances.

"I was wondering," she said slowly, "if you'd care to say a few words at the service."

"Your daughter meant a great deal to me, Mrs.  Scully.  I don't mind saying that."

"Thank you," she said.  "Thank you for saying so."

She sounded as if she had finally mastered her composure, though I sensed that she wanted to draw the conversation to a close.  She had probably been making similar calls all night, if not all day, but I was probably the first person to challenge her decision.

"Do you have a pen? I'll give you the information."

The service was scheduled for two o'clock Saturday afternoon at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow.  I vaguely wondered if the family belonged to this church or if it had been a subconscious choice on the part of Marge Scully, a woman who hadn't long been a widow when she had to watch the loss of her younger daughter played out on CNN.

As I hung up the phone, I clicked on the TV, hoping to crowd Mrs.  Scully's voice out of my head.  I immediately recognized the stretch of Pennsylvania farmland that appeared.

The voice-over said, "a religious sect known as the 'Kindred,' a group not unlike the Amish in their tradition of simple living.  Andrew--"

My mind flinched at the name, and I flipped to the next station.

"Dana Scully, a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation--- "

I moved my finger to switch channels again, but paused as Dana's face filled the screen.  The Bureau had released her badge photo to the media.

"I miss your face, Scully," I muttered to myself.

Whatever tabloid show it was just as suddenly cut to footage of the explosion and fire.  I zapped to the next channel, where "Hard Copy" promised to explain how "a local FBI agent became a victim of obsession, kidnapping, and ultimately the indifference of her own bureau" right after this commercial break. 

It was still everywhere.  I quickly surfed to MTV and let the remote clatter to the coffee table.  I curled up on the sofa and closed my eyes. 

Closure, Marge Scully had said.  I was beginning to understand what she meant.

* * *

**Home  
Friday, 3:10 a.m.**

QVC was touting the investment possibilities of ceramic "Mighty Morphin Power Rangers."

I pulled the throw pillow out from under my head, flipped it drool-side down, and rolled over to get back to sleep.  At that moment, I became aware of someone pounding on my door, which must have been what woke me in the first place.

I automatically hollered, "Take it down the hall to Pao-Hu!" Those guys often ordered pizza in the middle of the night, and the less-than-literate pizza jockeys nearly always brought them to my door first.  The intrusions didn't bother me nearly as much as learning that most of the jockeys were college students did.

I thought I heard someone call my name, and then the knocking started up again.

"I didn't order a pizza," I shouted.  I slowly unfolded into a sitting position.

"Mulder, are you there?" the guy on the other side of the door clearly said. 

I didn't recognize the voice, but I got to my feet.  As I shuffled to the door, rubbing my face, I thought maybe I had won a free pizza.

"Who is it?" I called as I unlocked the door.

"Steven Speilberg."

Famous directors who have more money than God rarely show up at my door unannounced and landsharks aren't known for their imagination.  I opened the door, expecting to find some wise-ass delivery boy.  The first thing I noticed was that the hall smelled more like a gym locker than tomato sauce.

"Mulder." There were nuances of familiarity and relief in the way my name was exhaled rather than stated.

"Yes?" I prompted, looking him over.  "Do I know you?"

He seemed to be just a couple of inches shorter than me and about my age.  It was hard to tell how much he weighed since he was dressed so outrageously.  His sweatshirt (**OVER THE HILL**) was stretched out around the middle and his pants, which I suspected were being held up by a rope, were too wide.  He shifted under my scrutiny.  I glanced down at his feet and saw that his tennis shoes were too small and well-worn.  By his right foot was a bundle of dark material.

I looked at his face again.  I didn't want to be a bad host, but he needed a shower.  His eyes were light green and his hair was rust-colored, though it could have been actual rust.

"It's me," the guy said simply.  "It's Scully."

Even half-asleep I was determined not to make the same mistake twice in one night.  I stepped aside and opened the door wider, telling him, "You must be Dana's brother.  Please come in."

He looked at me uncertainly for a moment, then slowly bent down to pick up the dark bundle.  As he passed, my compassion for Marge Scully quadrupled.  The whole family was falling apart; this son smelled like a brewery.  I let the door close.

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" I asked, following him into the living room.  "Steven?"

He had sat down in the chair opposite the sofa and the light from the television gave his skin a blue cast.  The bundle was at his feet again.

"No, Mulder," he said quietly.  "It's me.  Dana."

I rubbed my face again.  Dealing with a drunk without delusions was difficult enough, but this guy's statement bordered on the psychotic.  I had a feeling I was in for a long night.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked.  "I was making some when you knocked."

I backed into the alcove that serves as my kitchen.  My gun was on the counter where I expected to find it.  I slipped the holster onto the back of my running pants and pulled my t-shirt down to cover it. 

"Think, Mulder," my visitor was calling from the other room.  "You've seen pictures of my brothers.  And they don't look like this, do they? They look like my dad, don't they?"

I lost count of how many scoops of coffee I had just shoveled into the filter basket.  He was right.  Both of Scully's brothers were shorter and even stocky compared to whomever was sitting in my living room.

I shook my head and said to myself, "I must be dreaming."

"You're not dreaming," he said, standing in the archway.  "But I wish I was."

From the other room, I could hear that QVC had moved on to the resale value of ceramic "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." I had to be dreaming. 

"I thought for sure you'd understand," he said.  "I know it's a shock.  But I never expected skepticism from Fox Mulder."

I forced a smile.  "I'm not a skeptic, but I sometimes play one in my dreams."

"You're not dreaming," he said, his voice rising in frustration.

"Then you're a gender-confused ghost," I said sharply, "because Dana Scully's dead."

I had never said it out loud before.  That's how I ruled out the possibility that I was dreaming.  Hearing myself say it would have certainly woke me up.  I was wide awake and cornered in my own kitchen by a very sick individual. 

"Let me tell you what happened," he persisted.

I turned away, without turning my back on him, and re-measured the coffee.

"Mulder, we were so worried about Brother Martin's murders that we didn't give Andrew's assault on me a second thought.  And once Martin was captured by his own people and we found the farm abandoned and the killings stopped, it didn't cross our minds that Andrew might have slipped away and stayed behind.  I certainly never thought he'd become obsessed with me."

"You could've gotten most of that from any of the tabloid shows," I growled at him, filling the coffee pot's water reservoir.

"Maybe," he said, coming toward me.  "But could I have gotten this?"

He held out his hand, and cradled in the palm was a small gold cross attached to a delicate chain.  It didn't mean anything, I told myself.  He could have noticed it in her photographs on television, some talking head could've mentioned it.  Dana always wore her cross, and never hid that fact.  She even wore it to bed and to bathe. 

I smiled, despite myself, remembering the first time I had noticed it.  During our first case together, she had come to my motel room in her bra, panties, cross, and little else, frantic that I check out what turned out to be mosquito bites on her lower back.

"Steven Speilberg!" I gasped, suddenly remembering more about that first assignment.  I had given that name when I popped over to her room to see what she was up to, on the pretext of inviting her out on an evening run.  I doubt if she would have included that in a field report, even back then.  So, only Dana Scully would have known to use that name.  It was a private code she would expect me to recognize.

"Steven Speilberg," the man in my kitchen stated matter of factly. 

I grabbed him by the shoulders, looking into those familiar green eyes.  "Oh, my God, Scully! Are you all right?"

Scully sighed with relief.  "It's about time."

"What the hell happened to you?" I asked, leading him out to the living room.  One of us needed to sit down.

I released Scully onto the sofa.  I collapsed into the chair, stumbling over the bundle he had brought in.  As I bent down to pick it up I realized it was Scully's black overcoat, which was now too small for him.

"I don't remember how it started," Scully said, with a slight shake of his head.  "One minute, I was walking out of my building to my car and the next, I was in a barn with Andrew."

"You were in Pennsylvania," I explained.  "Apparently, the Kindred have communities all over the United Sates, possibly the world."

Scully nodded.  "I figured out where I was later, after I escaped."

"But how did you escape? And how did this happen?" Now that I believed, I wanted to know everything, and Scully wasn't talking fast enough.

"After the FBI surrounded the complex-- " Scully suddenly paused to ask his own question.  "How did you trace us so quickly anyway? Were there any clues?"

I bit my lip to keep from smiling.  "If I tell you, you might not believe me."

"Try me."

"Your cell phone was found about six feet from your car.   That was the only clue I had."

"So?"

"So," I said evenly, "I took it to a psychic."

"And this psychic told you I had been kidnapped by Andrew and taken to Reston, Pennsylvania," Scully said doubtfully.

I laughed out loud, shaking my head.  "Only you could sit there, looking like that, and still not believe.  She didn't tell me everything, but she did give me a few leads to go on.   Our colleagues who keep track of cults were then very helpful with information on other Kindred communities.

"Would you like some coffee?" I asked, rising.  As anxious as I was, I could see Scully still needed a few minutes to collect his thoughts. 

"I would love some.  And something to eat.  I haven't eaten all day."

"Any preferences?"

"Anything but whatever that was," Scully said, indicating the cereal from earlier that I hadn't touched.  It was a swollen, soggy mess.

"We could order a pizza." I picked up the bowl and carried it into the kitchen with me.  "Delivery's pretty fast around here."

"Pizza sounds great.  And a salad, if they deliver them."

I ordered the pizza while I poured our coffees.  Of course, I still ended up with Hu and Pao's.  I had just sat down when there was a knock at the door and a voice called, "Pizza!"

Scully's eyebrows jerked up.

"Mystic pizza," I said, going to the door.

I didn't even try to explain things to the kid.  Scully was starved and I had recovered my appetite.  Besides, logic dictated that my pizza would be delivered to the neighbors and things would even out. 

A few bites later, Scully was ready to pick up where he had left off.  "It was weird, Mulder.  Did you notice that the complex looked exactly like the one in Massachusetts?"

Chewing, I nodded.

"There was even the ceremonial cavern you talked about under the barn.  After the FBI surrounded the building, Andrew dragged me down there for safekeeping.  I was looking for a way out when I slipped and fell into one of those 'gopher holes.' I must have hit my head because the next thing I remember is coming to and," Scully gestured to his body, "finding I had grown out of my clothes."

"So where did you get this charming outfit?" I asked.

"An old trucker picked me up once I made it out to the main road.  He took me as far as the brewery he works for and fetched me some things from his locker.  I got the shoes from my next lift.  I've spent the greater part of the week walking, and putting faith in the kindness of strangers only when absolutely necessary."

I looked him over again.  It was so incredible, but I was glad to have Scully alive. 

"How did you get out of the barn without us seeing you?"

Scully shrugged.  "I found a tunnel that led out into a field.  I expected Andrew to come after me at any moment.  But then whoever was in charge out there blew up the barn.  Why did they blow up the barn, Mulder?  Was I that expendable?"

"No," I shook my head emphatically.  "You know I never would've stood by and let them do that.  It was only tear gas.  But there was something in that barn that reacted with it, Scully, I'm sure of that.  It took the fire crew two days to put it out."

He nodded distractedly.  He must have seen it all from the field.

"Is that why you didn't come forward then?" I asked quietly.

Scully shook off his memories and gave me a slight smile.  "Who would have believed me?  Some half-naked man wandering in from a field, claiming to be the female hostage they were trying to save.  It took me a while to believe it myself.  In fact, I don't think I fully accepted it until I convinced you."

"Have you tried to switch back," I asked, "like Marty?"

"Yes!  Believe me, yes."  He sighed again.  "I can't do it, or I don't know how.  I've come to the conclusion that I am one of them, but I'm not.  Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," I said.  I ran a hand through my hair.  "God, I'd like to have Ann Landers' advice on this one.  Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Scully shook his head.  "I'd like to get my old body back, but right now I'd settle for a hot shower and a place to crash."

I heard the alarm clock go off in the bedroom, reminding me that it was time to get up and go to work.

"You're welcome to my shower," I said, rising, "and my bed.  Oh! And my clothes since we seem to be about the same size now."

Scully got to his feet and put out his hand.  "Thanks, Mulder."

I hesitated.  Scully read the look on my face.

"Do you think I produce pheromones?"  There was more worry in his voice than accusation.

"I don't know."  I told myself that this was Scully for God's sake.  I offered him my hand.  "I know you'd never hurt me."

Scully crossed his arms in front of him.  "No.  I don't want to know."

"I think you're going to have to find out sooner or later," I told him.  "Come on, Scully, you lived through Andrew's pawing.  If I feel any discomfort, we'll let go."

Scully slowly unfolded his arms and placed his hand in mine.  Several seconds passed.  I didn't feel nauseous or submissive.  I gripped his hand tighter and began timing us with my watch.  I let a full and very ridiculous two minutes pass.

"You don't produce pheromones, Scully," I concluded.  "Like the rest of us losers, you'll have to rely on your charm."

Scully smiled weakly.  "I only hope it's enough."

* * *

**FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C.  
5:06 p.m.  
**  
I was staring at my cell phone. 

I had spent the day going over every scrap of data we had on the Kindred case, looking for some clue as to how to revert Scully's body back to its original gender, and I kept coming to the same conclusion.  It was the sex that killed, and it was the sex that was the catalyst for Marty's transformation.

But how was I going to tell Scully to get laid?

* * *

**Cafe Petitto  
Connecticut Ave  
Washington, D.C.  
7:12 p.m.**

Scully was late.

"What took you so long?" I demanded.

"Sorry," he muttered, sliding into his seat.  "There was a language barrier between me and the cab driver."

He was wearing my best suit, which actually fit him better than it did me, and my favorite tie.  But something was off.

"Where did you learn to tie a knot like that?" I asked.

Scully shrugged, picking up his menu.  "I went through an Annie Hall phase in high school.  Oh, I see I missed the appetizer."  He brushed several sunflower seed shells in my direction.

"Ha.  Ha."

The waiter, who had come by to take our drink orders, didn't find the shells so amusing. 

"So," Scully began, as soon as the waiter was gone, "what was it you couldn't tell me over the phone?"

Hoping to buy some time, I replied, "After dinner."

I almost made it, too.  Our salad plates had just been cleared away when Scully said, "It's the sex, isn't it?"

"No."  I sighed and fished some papers out of my breast pocket.  "It isn't just the sex."

I smoothed out my findings on the table between us.  "Contrary to what I may have said during the case, none of Marty's victims died in the throes of passion."

Scully scanned the print-out for a moment, then shook his head.  "I don't follow you."

"Think about it, Scully, there's more to sex than passion or lust.  There are definite physiological changes that take place: increased heart and respiratory rates, perspiration, and-- barring the use of condoms or dental dams-- an exchange of body fluid.  You pointed out yourself that none of the victims or Marty used condoms."

Scully shook his head.  "You're saying an exchange of body fluids killed those people? I've never heard of pheromones containing toxins."

"You don't produce pheromones.  Marty only used them to attract victims...  What I'm saying is, maybe these people-- the Kindred-- need the body fluid they collect to initiate their transformations.  Unfortunately, it's the body fluid they deposit that's fatal to their victims."

"You may be onto something, Mulder," Scully said, picking up and studying the papers.  "The two people Marty engaged in oral sex seem to have died more quickly.  The fluid would have been absorbed at a faster rate in those instances."

Our dinners came.  We ate quietly.  Scully, I thought, concentrated a little too much on his meal.

Finally, he said softly, "Would you help me?"

I knew it would come to this.  I nodded, not looking at him.  "Sure...I just-- I guess I should warn you I don't have a little black book."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what..."  As I looked up at him, I suddenly realized what he meant.  He meant I was dessert.

Even though I was too stunned to move or say anymore, my mind raced back over the evidence.  Why hadn't I seen this coming?  I knew Scully couldn't possibly do the wild thing with a stranger.  And I should have realized that the fact that Scully was now a man didn't necessarily dictate a preference for women.  Marty seemed to select his victims indiscriminate of gender.

At length, I managed two words: "I can't."

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Scully asked evenly.

I rubbed my brow, trying to avoid his eyes.

I heard Scully sigh.  When he spoke again, it was in a softer tone, pitched for my ears only.  “You know, when I first met you, I had to sift through a lot of rumor and innuendo about ‘Spooky’ Mulder.  Despite my initial impression, I came to believe that you were--”

I looked up sharply and cut him off, but my voice came out in nearly a whisper.  “Gay? Did you think I was gay?”

“--open to extreme possibilities,” Scully finished.

I sat back in my chair.  “Sorry, but this is a little too extreme.  Even for me.”

It was his turn to avoid my eyes.  He kept his on the table as he said, “You’re the only one I trust.  And I have to get back.”

My head was shaking before he ever finished.  “I can’t.”

Scully took a deep breath and rose from the table.  “Then, thanks for nothing, partner.”

With that, he snatched up my car keys from where I had carelessly tossed them on the table, and bolted for the door.

* * *

**Badlands  
22nd St.  
Washington, D.C.  
10:00 p.m.**

The cabdriver was asking for his money for the second time.

"This is the place you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said.  I had spotted my car and made him pull over.

"This your first time?" he asked.

I pulled out my wallet and paid the fare.  My hand closed around the door handle, and I froze.  I turned back to the cabbie and, for reasons I still can't explain, told him I was an FBI agent.

"Well, I hope you get your man," he said, counting his money.

Somehow, I made it from the cab to the club entrance.  There was a five-dollar cover charge.  I paid quickly and ducked inside.

It was early yet for the club scene.  There was a good crowd, but not the tight press of bodies I had expected, making it easier to scan for Scully.  The music was loud and, if this place was like most clubs, wouldn't be turned up to deafening until about eleven o'clock.

Looking around, I saw that I was over-dressed.  The uniform du nuit seemed to be jeans, preferably black and tight.  Scully must have honed in on the strains of taught denim.

I caught quite a few eyes as I looked for that one particular shade of green, though everyone kept his distance.  Mine is not a pretty face.

The club was enormous.  Every time I was almost ready to abandon my search, I found another room.  There were four bars in all, including a video bar.  That's where I found Scully.

He looked at ease, sitting on a stool with a mixed drink in his hand.  He was turned slightly sideways, with his elbow resting on the bar.  A youthful-looking blonde man had him engaged in conversation.  I nearly turned on my heel and left, but then Scully shook his head slightly and the blonde man wandered off.  I quickly took his seat, facing Scully with my back to the bar.

"Come here often?" I hollered to Scully over the din of a Nine Inch Nails video.

He hadn't lost the inherently feminine talent for withering looks.  He probably expected an apology; I didn't think I had anything to apologize for.

"Did you ever see the 'Crying Game'?" I shouted.

Scully squinted at me through the dim, smoky haze.  He shook his head, not in answer to my question.  This was often Scully's way of telling me I wasn't making any sense.

"You know," I bellowed, "that movie where this guy goes to bed with a girl who turns out to be a man.  I just thought that would be a hell of a thing to do to somebody.  Somebody who's not expecting it."

I hoped Scully would get the hint.  Instead, he ordered another club soda with lime.

"And I thought of something else," I said, leaning closer to him in the interest of saving my voice.   "What if it's painful?"

"The sex?" Scully asked, as if he hadn't been giving me the cold shoulder.

"The transformation!" I shouted.  "And the sex."

"That's not your concern, Mulder!"

"You're my concern!" I hollered.  "Right now, I'm the only one who knows you're alive!"

Scully shook his head.  "Go home, Mulder!"

"I'm not leaving here without you!"

"You can't do anything for me, remember?  You just can't!"  He threw my words back in my face.

"At least let me try!"  I took a deep breath.  "Let's at least go somewhere we can talk without hollering at each other.  And if it doesn't work out, I'll ask Hu and Pao to set you up with someone."

"You can't try," Scully nearly screamed at me.  "You can't just change your mind."

"Sure, I can," I lied.  Trying to lighten the mood, I promised, "Three beers and I'll do anything."

Scully shot me a look that I'm sure was meant to blind me.  He turned away in disgust.

I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.  "I'm not leaving here until you agree to let me try to make love to you!"

"You go, girl!"  This from the bartender, who looked like a cross between RuPaul and Isaac Hayes.

I snatched back my hand, mortified.

Scully burst out laughing.  He pulled a few crumpled bills from his jacket pocket and dropped them on the bar.  Plucking at my suit sleeve, he led me out, chuckling periodically.

In the cool night air, everything seemed right again.  There was no anger between us and no need for apologies.  We headed for the car, side by side, in silence.  However, there was something I needed to say, and as I reached the driver's door, I nearly said it.

"Scully."  I looked at him across the roof of the car. 

"Oh, sorry," he said, and tossed me the keys.

I waited until we were both seated and tried to get it out again.  "There's something I haven't told you."

"Yeah?"

"The reason I changed my mind," I began.  I looked into those familiar eyes-- the mirror to the soul, as they say-- but I could feel myself backing out. 

"Yes, Mulder?"

"You're mom's holding a memorial service for you tomorrow at two."  It wasn't exactly a lie, though I felt like a real shit for using it as my motive.

"Oh, my God," Scully murmured.  After a time, he whispered, "Poor mom."

We rode back to my place without another word.

* * *

**Home  
Around midnight **

Scully was opening my second beer.

"You're not insulted, are you?" I called from my position on the sofa.

"By what?" Scully asked, crossing the short distance from kitchen to living room.  "By the fact that your male ego has to be anaesthetized before you can even attempt intimate physical contact with another man?"

I accepted the bottle that was offered to me.  "And you've been spared the burden of male ego?"

Scully sat down not too close beside me and regarded me with just a hint of a smirk.  "I have enough to be insulted."

It must have been the beer.  I nearly laughed as I shook my head.  "Why? You said yourself you couldn't do it with a woman."

Scully shook his head.  "I said I couldn't do it with some strange woman.  If you were a woman--"

It was my turn to smirk.  "You'd have vanity to contend with."

Scully sighed, but a small smile returned to his face.  "Agent Mulder, are you saying the only reason I'm insulted is because I've retained the fabled feminine flaw of vanity?"

I shrugged and took another swallow of beer.

It wasn't going well for either of us, and this line of banter was only making matters worse.  We fell into a silence that quickly became uncomfortable.  I finally excused myself to get another beer. 

"Would you like a Snapple?" I called from the kitchen.

"No, thank you."

His voice had moved.  I heard the TV snap on, video tapes being shuffled.

"What are you doing?" I asked from the doorway.

Scully was turning an unlabeled tape over and over in his hands.  "Come on, Mulder.  Your tape collection is second only to your stack of Playboys."

True.  But most of my tapes were labeled.

"You have quite a reputation down at the Bureau," Scully continued, plunging the tape into the vcr.

In fact, the only tapes I didn't label were the ones that contained news footage.  Those I recycled.

I was about to make this point to Scully when the now-familiar Pennsylvania farmland filled the screen.  Bernard Shaw's voice-over was lost in the magnitude of the explosion.  And then there I was, being held back by Skinner and four other men. 

Scully, who seemed mesmerized by the images up to this point, slowly turned his head toward me.

It was time for the truth. 

I walked over to the vcr.  I fumbled and hit 'pause' instead of 'stop.' The tape froze on Scully's badge photo.  I looked up from it into the same green eyes.

"There's something else I didn't tell you," I said to the man standing in front of me.

He tried for levity.  "Isn't there always?"

"I'm serious."  As if to prove it, I took a step closer to him.

"I'm listening," Scully said quietly.

I glanced down at the screen again.  The eyes-- hers and his-- were the same. 

"I was ready to rush into that fire to save you.  So, now, I'm thinking, this has got to be more pleasant."

Without giving myself time to back out or consider the implications, I leaned forward and kissed him.  I don't know what my male ego was expecting, but it was pretty much the same as any kiss.  With my eyes closed, I couldn't tell the gender of the lips mine were pressed against.  I was emboldened by this, yet afraid I'd lose my nerve if I came up for air.  The kiss lengthened and deepened.

Scully must have sensed this.  He didn't break the oral contact as he maneuvered us toward the sofa.  I felt the strength in his hands, but I wouldn't allow myself to be distracted by it.   He was strong; I reminded myself I had never thought of Scully as weak.

One of his hands finally came to rest on the bridge of my nose, pressing my eyelids closed.  Only then did he end the kiss.  His body leaned into mine, urging me to lie back on the sofa.  I heard the lamp click off.  There was some scuffling, and then the sound of the remote extinguishing the TV.

We were kissing again.  Scully was taking care not to spook me, not resting his body on mine.  I won't deny that I was pretty turned on, but when his hands moved to my belt, I tensed.

"Relax," he whispered against my ear.  His voice was softer in the dark.  "I just need a fluid sample."

Men: gay or straight we all want blow jobs.

I relaxed and let it happen.

* * *

**Home  
Saturday, 8:03 a.m.**

Scully was gone.

I was only half-awake and my head was fuzzy, either from alcohol or exhaustion, but I knew I was alone.  My eyes groggily swept the room, including the space between the sofa and the coffee table.  I sat up slowly and called out.

No answer. 

The beer and Snapple bottles were scattered around the room where I expected to find them.  If that wasn't proof enough that I hadn't dreamed up the past few days, my open pants were. 

It hadn't worked.  And Scully had left rather than face me.

I called out again, louder, and my voice echoed through the empty apartment.

I rubbed my face.  Where could he have gone?  I got to my feet.  Hu and Pao?

I stumbled toward the bedroom, pulling off my clothes and making a mental list of the most likely places Scully might have gone.  His old apartment, his sister's place (Scully had once remarked that her ideas were almost as crazy as mine), back to the gay district.  I'd grab a quick shower and a cup of coffee and start with those three.  I only hoped he hadn't appropriated my car again.

The sight of the clothes Scully had worn the previous evening neatly folded on the foot of the bed broke my concentration.  Only then did I hear the shower running.

I quickly covered the short distance to the bathroom, but I had suddenly lost my nerve and my voice.  I eased the door open and leaned in, hoping a silhouette against the shower curtain would tell me all I needed to know.  There wasn't enough light in the room.  I stepped inside.

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

I yanked open the curtain.  Scully started, but recovered quickly.

"It worked," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I can see that," I said, keeping my eyes on her face.  But I had needed to see to be sure.  I gently slid the plastic barrier back into place between us.

"When?" I asked.

Scully cleared her throat.  "Not long after I woke up this morning.  I was going to wake you."  A pause.  "I called my mom instead.  When she finished crying, she wanted to come over to my apartment.  I persuaded her to meet me for lunch...  Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"Would you mind going over to my apartment and picking up some clothes and things?"

"Not at all."  She certainly couldn't borrow mine anymore.

"Thank you."

I made for the door, but something stopped me. 

"Scully," I said into the quiet without turning around.  "What if it's not permanent?"

"What?"  That one word seemed to hold many emotions: disbelief, fear, sadness.

I took a deep breath.  "What if-- the next time you're with someone-- you turn back into a man?"

She didn't answer right away.  The sound of the shower spray grew louder in the silence.  Louder still was a steady clicking sound as the shower curtain was slowly pulled aside.

I turned around and Scully held out her hand to me.

"There's only one way to find out, Mulder"

* * *

**Home  
Saturday, 10:13 a.m.**

Scully was curled up in my robe on the sofa, sipping a cup of coffee.

I sat down on the coffee table opposite her. 

"Do you feel anything?"

"Not yet."  She shook her head, squeezing into a tighter ball.  "I wish I knew if that were good or bad."

"You said it happened as you woke up this morning," I reminded her.  "Maybe you have to relax."

She considered this a moment, then handed me her coffee.  I set the cup down next to me and pulled her into an embrace.  Rubbing her back, I told her everything would be okay.  Eventually, I pulled her to her feet.  She led the way to the front door.

"Don't forget my shoes," she instructed me.

"I won't."  With my free hand, I pulled her list from my jacket pocket.  Shoes were definitely on it, as were the specific bra, panties, pantyhose, blouse, skirt, blazer, make-up, brush, hairspray, and other toiletries she wanted.  "You know, there are some definite advantages to being a man."

"Well, I'm glad to hear one finally admit it," she teased me.

"Ha.  Ha."  I unlocked the door.  "I'll be back as soon as I can find a truck to haul this stuff."

"And then?"  She was serious again, and there was a worried catch in her voice.

I took her by the shoulders, rubbing them gently.  "Then, I'll come back here... and we'll make love again."

"Whether we need to or not?"

I cupped her jaw and looked into her eyes.  Woman or man, they didn't change.  Woman or man, Dana Scully was the other half of my life.

I smiled down her.  "Either way."

* * *


End file.
